The Doctor's Secret
by WettyForMattSmith
Summary: The Doctor reveals his secret to Amy, only to learn that Amy has a secret too.
1. The note

"Doctor?"

Shouted Amy curiously into the long empty corridors of the T.A.R.D.I.S, her search for the mysterious time lord was beginning to prove challenging, as she had been at it for several minutes. The note he left for her in the console room was vague at best, if not slightly worrying, 'My room. Midnight. Alone.' was all that she had to go on. Now, if only she knew where his room was. He had always shrouded his bed chambers in mystery, with its location never being known as more than 'down the hall'. As she turned down another of the seemingly never ending corridors the old blue box concealed, a door caught her eye. It was contrast against the curved silver walls, a large black cast iron door with a knocker to match. All other doors so far were simple, nothing unusual (as the T.A.R.D.I.S went), but a sense of danger surrounded this one. As she approached the door she noticed the plague on the wall next to it, 'The Doctor'. She gave the knocker three stern thumps, and awaited her raggedy man to answer her call. The door opened slowly, revealing a plump four poster bed, but this bed was odd. It was garnished with draconian torches, as was the rest of the room, which gave off a very dense gothic vibe. The walls were covered with a very dark wall paper; on them were paintings of very deranged, yet arousing scenes. She slowly wandered in uneasily,

"D-doctor?"

She managed to squeak out. The heavy iron door slammed shut behind her, she ran towards it, feebly trying to open it. But she did not want the door to open; she enjoyed this sensation of being trapped, vulnerable, alone, entirely at the doctor's mercy.


	2. The room

She ended her false attempt to escape, her arms tired and her apatite for the Doctor growing. She put on a fake front of panic and fear, if he could see her; this ought to get his attention.

"D-doc-doctor? This isn't funny anymore"

She announced to the empty room with a tremor of timidity in her voice. She slowly made her way deeper into the room, her eyes darting from side to side, if the doctor wanted to toy with her she would play right along with his little game.


	3. The Doctor

Just as Amy was about to call out for him again, she was stopped by a hand, holding a cloth over her mouth. She struggled, but only to maintain the impression that she was a scared, isolated little girl for him to manipulate, there was no way she wanted to get free from the doctors harsh, hard grasp. As consciousness slipped away from her, the last though to cross her mind was of the four poster bed, where she was certain she would soon be.

"My my, Amelia, letting yourself in to other peoples rooms now are we?"

He half joked; a deviant look sprawled across his face,

"I thought you might have known better, you bad girl."

Amy was just opening her eyes to the dim lit room she was trapped in, and there he was, the doctor. He paced the floor in front of the bed, he was shirtless, but he was still wearing his braces and bowtie. She had never laid eyes upon the doctor topless before, and she was pleasantly surprised with what she saw. His lean stature in no way did justice to his figure, his chiselled abdominals, his bulging arms; every inch of his torso screamed out to her, and she could tell that this was only the start of what was in store.


	4. The bed

The Doctor was not the only one without a shirt on. As Amy looked down her body she realised that she was only wearing her underwear. A tight red lace bra barely covering her perky breasts, and a tiny red lace thong hid away her bald, tight cunt, with her excitement clearly shown from the wet patch slowly growing. She attempted to cover herself with her arms to keep the illusion going, but found herself unable to. Her hands and legs were both tightly bound by black ropes to each of the beads columns; she was trapped, bound, helpless, and loved every second of it.

"Now, what can we do about this?"

The Doctor continued, he walked into another room, but continued to shout through.

"We can't let a bad girl go unpunished, can we? No of course not, but how best to do it. A spanking? Probably but it is not big enough is it. A whipping? No that is not big enough either is it. Oh, this might do."

He returned from the other room with a long, chunky black case, brimming with what Amy could only imagine was to punish her. He opened the case and produced from it a black riding crop. He ran the crop up the side of Amy's thigh slowly, letting the cold leather slide off of her skin; her anticipation was building, the more the doctor teased the more she yearned for him to strike her. The crop continued up her body, moving from her side to her front, and on top of her breast. He paused, and shot her a smile full of lust. Here it was, the wrath of the doctor, the punishment she so desperately craved. The first strike.


	5. The Crop

The end of the crop left her body briefly, only to come down sharply, stinging her fiercely. The shock ran through her, as the pain heightened her sense of twisted pleasure. As he slid the hard leather over her to the other breast Amy let out a long, deep moan. She longed to feel the punishing smack of the Doctor, with thoughts of how he might continue playing in her imagination. Maybe he would gag her. Maybe he would choke her. Maybe he would take it further, exploring areas of bodily pain that she had never experienced.

Rory refused to venture into Amy's world of BDSM experimentation, for him sex was painfully boring, and not in a fun way. He was exceptionally conventional: in bed, extra safe condom on, missionary position, steady pace twenty minutes, cuddle, and sleep. But this, this was exactly what the Doctor ordered. As the crop snapped her back to reality she let out a gasp, the Doctor was hitting harder. He alternated between sides, not pausing anymore. He thrashed her breasts relentlessly, with real passion, every hit adding to her growing libido. Her skin was flushed bright red, every lash bringing the pain higher and higher, closer and closer to her threshold; she could not contain her voice and let out a short, high pitched scream. It stung her ears as the crop stung her skin for the last time. He had stopped. He gave her a stare of sickened anger, as he fumed up to her face and took her hair in his hand:

"Now you've done it,"

He sniggered darkly with a devious grin.


End file.
